Summer Serendipity I
by spacebabe
Summary: In one moment, it changed him forever. Words stolen, mouth dry, and the feeling of something wonderful coming to being. True meaning to "serendipity". ( APH AU )
1. Chapter 1

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ty \ \ I \ \ k

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_"I don't know why, but we were watching shitty horror movies."_

For the hundredth time since the SATs, Alfred had had that dream again, the one where he and his brother, Matthew, had been sitting in their dark, tiny living room with the dog and a giant polar bear attacked them and tore them to shreds. Before, the two had agreed it was stress that was causing these dreams, but now they were just kind of stumped.

"Shitty horror movies? The old kind or just the shitty quality kind?"

Soft of voice and pale of appearance, Matthew Fitzroy was a sharp faced French boy with gentle blue eyes and a light smile, as well as Alfred's half-brother. His body was thick, a tall, largely built boy dressed in high-waisted, dark blue jeans and a soft blue button-up the color of the sky overhead. The paleness of his hair added to his blurry appearance, an apparition of a man who roamed under crystal bouts of cotton clouds and piercing blue lengths of backdrop, barefoot on grass the color of sickness spread over beauty. The tree, dark and looming, shielded the two from the sun's angry, festering glare, a cool mirage in the expanse of heat.

"Well, both. Bad acting and bad quality."

Alfred himself was the spitting younger image of Matthew, if a flare of energy and brightness had been lit within him like a wildfire, whereas Matt had merely the soft flickering of a white candle illuminating his frame. Al was shorter than Matt by half a foot and thinner in his physical build, but what he lacked in brutality he made up in expression and gestures. He moved and acted as a performer might, filled with enthusiasm and liveliness unrivaled by the harsh, beating sun or the gentle, sweet breeze that blew in from the south. His thin figure was, although layered with the merest muscle that aided his physical defense, shrouded in a red tee-shirt with a slashed logo across the front and loose shorts of bleached blue that hung about the knees. Hair nearly the same shade as Matthew's, a tad brighter, as if borrowing some rays from the sun, was wild and in disharmonious disarray, although falling back away from his crisp eyes that drunk in everything like the ocean's hungry tide.

"What kind of movie was it? Frankenstein? Dracula?"

A few second filed between them, a quiet spell of a car passing by, rubber rolling on asphalt, distant laughter of neighborhood children and squeals accompanied by the scent of city water, a scent that took a few degrees of warmth from the shade.

"Dracula, I think. There was a huge, old castle on a hill, and lots of lightning on the screen."

"That sounds more like Frankenstein. Y'know, because that guy used lightning to bring that dead guy back to life."

A single nod of golden haired head, blink of deep eyes, and a soft laugh of amusement, almost singed with strain, came from the haul of his throat. Al's legs folded Indian-style, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"Yeah, yeah. But does that even mean anything? What do you suppose it means?"

More momentary silence, quieted voices from the cal-de-sac, watery scent still strong and alluring in the summertime air, now joined by the recognizable aroma of sunscreen.

"Huh.. I'm not really sure. I mean, Frankenstein was a monster-"

"No he wasn't. He was the-"

"Oh, yeah. He was the doctor. But he brought a guy back to life. We were being killed. Maybe there's a connection there."

A stretch of thoughts were threaded between them, another car, louder voices with the bass of an older tone, a dog now barked closer to them.

"I guess so. But I also remember there being a woman on screen at one point. She looked really scared, y'know?"

"That was probably the bride of Frankenstein." A funny laugh, genuine in its humor, fell on the blazing air. "Maybe you're going to meet someone special, Al." Matt's thick arm bent into a V, nudging the elbow at his younger brother before dropping it, sweaty and warm and flushed. Too hot for joking. "Got any money, Al?"

A pause of surprise with the pull of his mouth in a type of confusion. "No, I don't have any. Why'd you think I do?"

"Yeah, you do, don't you? I thought dad said you got that job with Ms. Chavez mowing her yards."

Strike. A sharp blaze came to the blue pit of Alfred's eyes, a lightening of color, azure lightning stabbing fiercely across his face, hardening of the cheeks, eyebrows, as if this fiery slash had frozen him into this mask of unpleasant memories. Indeed, he had been given the job at Ms. Chavez's house across and down the street, however, the thought of that house filled him with a terrible clashing of dread, fear, and uncomfortableness. Some images floated to the top of his mind, a dark interior filled with the scent of kerosene, bleach, sugar-coated candies in their glass dish across the floor like candyland's night. Dark, wrinkled flesh was dry and scratchy on his own, and the overwhelming flavor of plums and mint flooded the back of his tongue. Down cast head, closed eyes, and the entire vision faded like fog spreading across the morning fields.

"No, I didn't. I'm going to have to find somewhere else to get money for the Arthur Blackthorn concert."

Instead of the lonely, cold house that stood like a mausoleum down the light gray road, the poster in his room hung in his eyes, the one with Arthur Blackthorn screaming into a tilted microphone, all bound and decked in leather and chains with red plaid hanging around his waist, haloed by the rest of his band frozen in the midst of playing drums and guitars and keyboards. The song they were performing backtracked in his mind to his favorite part, the part where the guitar solo started and Arthur's voice came from the bowels of wicked nirvana. The song always gave him chills and made him want to dance and sing along, pound fists and rock bodies.

"You better. I'm not going to this concert alone.."

The quality of his brother's voice made Alfred smile, nudging the other in the shoulder with his loosely closed fist.

"You know, you _could_ take a girl with you. What about Sesel, the exchange student? She doesn't know you're an awkward fuck yet, right?"

Al and Matt both knew how socially awkward Matt truly was, struggling with words with people he didn't know well, that common panicky feeling when going out somewhere new. Alfred knew better to poke fun at his brother for it, and he did regret it as he noticed the falling to Matt's expression, a dropping of softness to a hard and familiarly painful place. A frown found his own face as he let his clammy hand rest on the shoulder he had just assaulted.

"Sorry.. I mean, it's going to be great! Imagine with me, Scotty on drums, Jack on lead guitar shredding it up, Brice on bass, and _the_Arthur Blackthorn singing and screaming that music mom hates and we love so much! It's a double win, Mattie!"

His smile, although half false, was large and goofy and desperate to be sincere, still holding his sweaty hand on the other boy's shoulder. Silence. The kids' voice were gone, and the strong smell of fire and meat cooking soon made Al aware of his hunger.

A mumble came from Matthew, gentle, laced with an emotion that made Al's heart clench up and hit the bottom of his stomach like a rock, then stood and made his barefooted path back to the glass door of their house, disappearing inside to leave Al alone in the sweltering day.

A small breath of a sigh, eyes closed as his back hit the tree and slid him down to the grass, heel of the sweaty hand pressed to his forehead. Every feeling of negativity punched soreness into him as his other hand pressed to his head, over his eyes to keep the stinging down. He knew better than to bring that up. He _knew_ better! From experience alone he knew better than to have said that. God damn, why did he say that? Matthew had been struggling with this for how long now? Shit, did he feel like the hugest asshole on earth.

He continued to sit under the tree for a while, listening to the road as a few more cars passed, the children's voices never returning yet being replaced by the soft, entertained voices of adults went along with the burning and cooked barbecue smell. The presence of the house down the street crept every bad emotion to the front of his mind, choking him with guilt and shame and sadness, yet eventually, as the sun sunk down into the crimson, orange horizon, as did these feelings. Once to a state where he knew he could face his household, he pushed up on his grass-stained knees, feeling the achy-ness pump through the tendons and muscles of his legs. The grass was now cool and dry like sand on the beach at night, caressing blades on the soles of his feet, trading this for rough concrete as he mounted the stairs, glass door showing his face, adjusting it from its sadness to a neutral, tired mask, cold, brass door handle in his hand, aching in on rolling orange-red carpet.

The evening outside shifted to dark blue oceans with swinging stars blinking for their missing halves.


	2. Chapter 2

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Summer Serendipity \ \ I I \ \ The Arctic

Sunshine. A honey warmth that seeped across his face, arms, chest, painting his blonde hair a molten gold as if amber caught in a sweet brilliance. The entirety of the room was cast into such a color as he shrugged, stretched, moved about in the bed that was like a cocoon of warm and inviting cotton, the womb he didn't want to leave anytime soon. Sweet dreams danced like enticing ghosts at the back of his mind, fading slowly, softly, as if the sun was causing them to disperse as if fog. His arms snaked around the pillow and crushed it as he arched into another stretch, keeping his blue eyes shut as sleep still had an enchantment over them.

For a few moments, he was allowed the serenity of the morning, the sunlight's kiss and caress of sleep, delicately woven despite main rejuvenation.

And then a shoe came soaring at his head.

After the startled flying up of his head from the pillow, an exclamation of pain came from him, groggy and choked as he flung around to where the shoe had come from.

Matthew stood in the doorway with a frosted glare cooled over his eyes, an arctic air about him that seemed to suck the very warmth from the room. His thick arms were crossed, a tenseness to his body under the white tee shirt and plaid pajama pants, a posture of his that Al knew a little too well.

His lips parted, although still annoyed that he had been awoken, about to spill affectionate and sincere apologies to Matt, to confess how sorry he was and how he was the worst brother ever and he deserved the worst. But as he drew the breath to speak, Matt swerved from the threshold and disappeared in a blink into the darkness of the hall beyond. Gone, he was, swallowed by the gray shadows like a pale beacon of light blown out. And it made a hardness rise into Al like something sinking suddenly into the pit of his gut, stone-like and sharp and painful as he gathered his feet to the floor, determined to follow his brother.

The warmth of the room was definitely gone, taking with it his grogginess and desire to stay in the safety of his fabric shell and search his frigid sibling out; he hoped he could catch him before the older could make it to the kitchen. If not, he'd have to shoot pouting, apologetic looks to Matt all through breakfast to get his honesty across.

The carpet in the hall was just as cold as the air, a familiar chilling feeling he had associated with summertime, the hummingair conditioner roaring over his head and sending his golden hair, nearly white in this darkness, trembling gently and taking the bit of sweat against him and turning it icy. His entire mood so far this morning felt like a snowy blue, an emotion he could see in this blackness as his dark, watery eyes flooded about to find Matthew. Each doorway was a gapping mouth, gorged eyes that stared back empty, no light, no homeliness. Just loneliness and an uninviting aurora that he knew Matt was hiding in one of them.

"Matt?"

His tenor voice rang out against the quiet, having been able to listen down the hallway towards where the gilded haven of the kitchen was and realizing that it was as gray and cold as the rest of the house; so mom wasn't up yet. And Matt was definitely hiding from him. This sucked. Hard. A desperation pressed up against his ribs, thickening inside him like a tar that left him sickened with the anxiety to see Matt's white and red plaid form in the shadows, back turned at his approaching steps. Guilt also accompanied his ill feeling, a hot, feverish sensation that tightened in his temples, taking the serenity of sleep completely from him like a sneaky thief taking the one treasure he had today. It only made his pace brisker and broader as a hurry took to his bare feet, hummingbird-like as he darted about in quiet to find him.

"Matthew, man, come on.."

A kind of tired, slow urgency bled into the core of his words, carrying thinly through the hallway like a metallic thunk, reaching into the two doorways that stood adjacent to his now solid stance. Both doors stood open enough for him to peer into, although they were deep enough to keep him unable to see clearly what was inside. His arms hung limply at his sides, raising up halfway in a gesture of hopelessness, asking help from an unseen god, and then fell again into the same abject look he had about him. Golden eyebrows down, seas that gushed out and scanned for the lost boy.

A movement of blackened peach in the dark, rotten fruit that slipped back behind the white door in a quick gesture that had Al drawing nearer to assure he had truly seen it. Yes. Yes, it had been Matthew.

In the guest room he now sat, pale as a ghost in a high-back, pinkish chair the color of gums, stitched over with growing vines and flowers of tropical shades. Two thick, clenched hands gripped the arms of the chair, pallid as could be with bluish-green veins clearly standing out; this had another sinking feeling hitting Alfred harder than before, pulling a hollow growl in his stomach and leaving him going towards his brother.

The closer he got, the easier it was to see the details of Matthew. His hair was disheveled, curling about a consolidated face, dense set eyes of icy azure that stared ahead into space as if the cause of his anger and discomfort were there and not standing directly beside him. As Al came to put an arm on the top of the chair, leaning downward to get closer towards his sibling with the hopes of appearing more sentimental, a sudden jerk of Matt's had him reeling a mere moment before holding firm, frowning in a saddened type of way.

"Matt, come on, talk to me. I'm so sor-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Flung and hit home. Strongly. A slamming of iron to the midst of his chest. Matthew never talked to him this way. Ever. Only once before could he recall a time where it was remotely like this, and he was very painfully aware of how much he deserved it. Now it was like he had been seriously struck by Mattie, and soon had a pressure building in his face, forehead, behind his eyes as they stung from what was the beginning of tears taking a glaze to his cooling gaze.

A despairing gesture of his open palms came up as a hurt flashed clearly across his features, striking a rigidness into his usually fluid and loose posture. He parted his lips, trying to find something to say that would make those stinging words vanish for a moment, but found there was nothing he could really say to the other.

Moments of silence prolonged between, so morbidly desolate of amiability that it was almost tangible in the air, even colder than the house around him. Alfred merely watched his older brother with a pained expression that was imploring him wordlessly to say something to him. It hurt beyond belief to know that Matt was this upset over a phrase that had just slipped out on accident.

And then the hush was broken by a delicate tap of a voice, strongly condensed by a attempt at containing anger.

"Al.. Damn you. I don't know why you thought that was okay for you to say. That really struck a nerve in me. And you of all people should know that that sets me off the most. You, out of everyone I know, are the one that I hang my woes on, all my trust. And you do this. You take my problems and twist it into a joke like that. And it's not the only time you've done it. You've done it a lot before - well, maybe not a whole lot, but enough - and I just ignored it because I didn't want to argue with you.. But now.. You snapped it. Do you get me, Al? Because I don't want to be wasting my breath here."

He had risen from the chair, an odd silhouette against the furniture as if a tongue extending from a baby's mouth. His shoulders were set in a way still that made it clear, aside from his terse words, that he was still sincerely upset , and it also told Al to stay away and let him unwind. Let the words flow out now into the black air and he would hopefully be able to allow his temper to calm. This was common of Matthew, this long monologue he did when he was truly bothered or disturbed by an event that had happened to him. Over his first serious break-up, over the time he ran over his pet Terrier, and when he had been beaten up that one time in grade school over wearing that pink shirt to school. Common Matt.

Al gave a short nod.

"Good.."

A sudden wracking of his hands through his hair, a stress-induced habitual mannerism, and a small step forward, angling his body oddly as those same frozen eyes looked off away from his younger brother, looking again at something that wasn't there.

"I just.. I've got something I've been needing to tell you. Something I've been holding off for a while on because.. Well, because I was afraid of how'd you'd react to it. I know it may not be easy to believe, but.. Like I said, I trust you with everything. You know that. I know that. But.. It's been really hard on me and I.."

A fall into silence again, the arctic winds in the hall causing ghostly sighs to pass through the room as the air conditioner picked up as it did on schedule. Alfred had the want to approach Matt, a squeezing of the shoulder for reassurance, a hug to make him know he cared so very much, something other than this awkward standing away from him as if a god being prayed to from the confessionals.

Another sigh, an inhaling from the taller blonde that almost startled Alfred, a refocusing on him from this blurry haunted room, anticipating what else he had to say.

"I-"

"Boys!"

Somewhere within the home, a soprano chime beckoned them both, insisting and light as a silver bell as it drew both sets of contrasting blue eyes towards the door, off to where it had originated from.

"Boys, what do you want for breakfast?"

The blue clashed, dark verses light for a moment in an explosion of confusion and the clear desire to speak and be heard, and then a breaking as the lighter drew back, trailing along Al's form and the path to his feet along the carpeted floor.

A soft sound of a choked word, strangled as it was plucked back into his throat as Matthew shrugged past him for the door, a shove almost in its hostility, obviously heading for the kitchen.

Alfred stood alone with that same burning behind his eyes, lighting them warmly of molten sea water, gazing into the gray in concern, questioning, and an irritation that often came from not receiving the information one wants to hear or know. The coldness again pressed on him and allowed a tickling trail of a waterfall on his peach cheeks.


End file.
